Boning

In the snow on the hilltop, they kissed, arms encircling each other’s cold, non-human bodies. One kiss then led to another; one more passionate. Soon they were seated on the hilltop, Sally placed astride Jack’s lap, continuing to kiss, continuing to embrace. From time to time Sally would realize she was grinding her pelvis into Jack’s, and would feel a little ashamed of herself. She didn’t want Jack to think she was a horny slut. Yet…

Dr. Finklestein had designed her for sex. She was supposed to be his sexdoll. She eventually began to poison him in order escape from his horrible designs upon her. The doctor himself was old and feeble and wasn’t physically able to force her to do something if she resisted him; but he had tried to get her to comply, guilting her about her duties, tormenting her when she wouldn’t submit to his boudoir demands. Despite it all, she had remained steadfast. Nevertheless, the fact remained: she had been built for sex. 

Here she was now, desperately wanting to get some from Jack, her insides burning with a desire for something to fill her. Perhaps Jack would be agreeable if she escalated things… gingerly, she lowered her tiny hand and searched under his coat for the waistband of his pants. Jack raised no objections, and only continued to kiss, caress and breathe heavily. 

Sally dared penetrate the waistband. She felt cold bones and… nothing else. 

Now Jack pulled back, almost dizzily. His impassioned state was evident from his whispered voice and his strong embrace. “Want to go back to my house?” he asked. 

Sally became puzzled, but she also remained aroused, in love, and willing to do whatever the skeleton before her wanted. She agreed, and they walked hand in hand across the graveyard, across the cobbles of the town, and to his mansion.

Jack’s house was fit for a king. Solid black interiors, black furnishings, occasional touches of grey or, strikingly, red. Wealth, luxury, and most important for Halloweenland, fright radiated from every room. 

Jack whisked her along, leading her up narrow stairs and ladders into his bedroom. It was a windowless room with a fireplace, black drapes all about; rather dungeon-like in its aesthetic, like something you’d expect from Pit and the Pendulum instead of Delta of Venus. “Better for inducing nightmares,” said Jack with a smile, as if he anticipated her unasked question. Then his confident demeanor briefly melted, exposing a kind of sadness — or was it frustration? 

“Sally,” he said, “you… understand I need to take some unusual measures for this? I’d love to fling you down and start fucking you this moment, but it just doesn’t work that way.” He pulled her close, crumpling into her. “I have to… I have to use some assistance, understand?”

Sally hadn’t really given it thought before, but she’d seen naked skeletons around town often enough to know that skeletons lack the necessary privities for this kind of action. Somehow, everything with Jack had just felt so natural that it hadn’t really occurred to her that he would follow the established pattern. But now, she wanted this. She trusted him. Whatever he wanted to try, she would follow gratefully.

“Of course, Jack,” she answered.

“Excellent. Why don’t you get undressed, and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a jiffy. Oh — just a second. Don’t forget this!” He grabbed what looked like a black velvet napkin and placed it into her hands. “It’s a blindfold. I’d rather you have it on before I get back. The, uh… the assistance I use doesn’t have the best aesthetics, I’m afraid.”

Jack vanished out the door before she could answer. She was rather dumbstruck anyway. But, it sounded like Jack knew what he was doing — good god, certainly the great Jack Skellington had brought women here before, being the Pumpkin King for as long as anyone could remember. He wasn’t a silly virgin like she was. He apparently had developed a system, perhaps some kind of attachment, that worked but which was humiliatingly unattractive for him to wear. Sally thought about disobeying the instruction, or at least cheating the blindfold so that she could really peek out of it when she wanted, but she decided that Jack knew best. It was apparently a revolting sight, or something he believed too much so to wish to let her see. She couldn’t imagine what could really be so appalling to look at, but, even if it was all in Jack’s head, it apparently made him uncomfortable. So, she would do what he wanted. She would be a good girl and follow her Pumpkin King’s instructions.

Sally giggled naughtily as she pulled off her shoes, socks, dress and underthings, and neatly folded them in a corner of the room. She got onto the bed, and tied the blindfold over her eyes as requested. Jack still seemed to be busy — evidently it was a very elaborate contraption he had to use, and it was taking a long time to put on. She tried to imagine it: his cool, hard bones pressed against her limbs, and the feeling between her legs of… something. Sally passed the time trying to position herself on the bed into what she reckoned might be an attractive position, hoping to at least give Jack something nice to look at when he entered. 

She was getting rather bored and falling a little out of the mood when at last she heard the sound of something at the door. More ruckus than she would have expected from Jack, but apparently, whatever apparatus he had was rather significant in size. It had a kind of metallic sound, like machinery being wheeled into the room. 

“Is that you, Jack?” Sally asked, concerned.

In reply, she felt Jack’s familiar skull against her lips, bestowing another impassioned kiss. 

“Yes,” he replied at last, his voice gentle and ardent. “Just lie back. I’ll tell you what to do.”

“What to do?” she asked. “Jack, I really can’t see anything…”

“Shh,” said Jack, his boney finger pressing her lips. “It won’t be difficult.”

He pulled back then, and she heard assorted rustlings around the room. It sounded like equipment being shuffled about. 

Then came Jack’s instruction: “Open your legs. Nice and wide.”

Sally complied, her heart racing. This was it. She was about to lose her virginity to Jack Skellington, her beloved, the man she’d risked her life for. “Jack! Please — kiss me while you put it in.”

She felt Jack kiss hard against her lips, and his boney hands encircled hers. Then — the first overwhelming pressure. Everything else slipped away, leaving only the sense of her virgin slit being entered for the first time. She gasped hard through her nose, Jack keeping his promise to kiss her all through it. 

He pulled his face back, but she felt the rhythm step up, the hard cock plunging into her, out, in, out again. It wasn’t a wholly mechanical action — he needed to stop and rest every so often, and the speed varied. Apparently Jack was wearing some kind of apparatus, or at least governing it with his own body. Sally herself was surprised to discover how little else she could sense once she was being fucked; it was like no other sensation existed. Combined with her lack of visual data, the experience took on a rapturous feel, like something not of her own world.

From time to time Jack would mutter an instruction into her ear: “Turn to the left” — “Raise your legs” — “Play with yourself.” She followed each one automatically, feeling herself in another world. From time to time she would just manage to perceive some element of the machinery being used on her — something that felt like a cloth drape, a rubbery device maybe used to balance it on top of her, the warmth of the motor. There was weight on her, she could tell that much; if she wanted to get up she would have to ask Jack to get off her, or, get whatever the device was off of her. 

Then at length, she felt her hips seized and pulled hard against the object. She groaned with a slight discomfort as it hit too deep; then the next sensation she knew was a liquid dribbling out of her, and the object withdrawn.

Unthinkingly, she whipped off the blindfold, anxious to see what had made the mess.

When she got an eyeful, she screamed.

“Where am I? Where’s Jack —” 

“Right here,” said Jack, his voice coming from a nearby chair where he’d been seated, observing her lecherously. 

Jack was there — he was in the room — but how then could it be that before her was Doctor Finklestein?!

She watched the old man fastening up his clothes, then rising and making the few short steps he needed to get into a sort of robotic walker device. Not his usual wheelchair, this contraption was what he used on occasions when he had to do physical activities like climbing stairs or rocks. He rarely used it, because he found it hard to operate; but ascending the stairs of Jack Skellington’s house for a project like this was too good to pass up.

“Scrumptious,” he said in way of critique. 

Sally’s head swam. She looked to Jack. “What is he doing here?!”

“I needed to find someone in a hurry,” answered Jack, still seated in the chair and looking quite unperturbed. “The doctor seemed very eager to help out.”

Sally peered down between her legs, seeing the whitish slime leaking from her freshly-fucked monosyllable. “You mean… you let the doctor…”

Dr. Finklestein began to cackle evilly. “Such a successful collaboration, Jack! We really must do this again. But I must be going, my boy, it’s been a hard day for everyone.” Without another word — but plenty more mad laughter — the old creep used his machinery to hobble out the door. 

Jack rose now and sat on the bed beside the rather shaken Sally, and put his boney arm around her. Sally — naked, stunned, violated — snatched the blankets and tried to cover herself. 

“I can’t always get someone attractive to fill in for me,” said Jack, still so casual, so oblivious. “It’s better with the blindfold anyway, I’m told. Lets your imagination run wild!” Jack swept with his arm like some kind of awesome vista was before them.

“You mean, you’ve done this before?” asked Sally, appalled.

“Of course! It’s how it works, Sally. If I can’t do a job myself, I delegate! That’s much of the art of governing here.”

“But why him?”

“Well, when I started asking around, he was the first taker —”

“You just asked random people to come up here?”

“It’s okay, Sally, it’s Halloween Town! We all know one another.”

Sally screamed. And as she screamed, she realized: Jack still had no idea what he was doing wrong. The man who had stolen someone else’s holiday, and thought he could just fill in as Santa Claus and that no one would notice or care, likewise didn’t think anything of letting someone else fill in for him in the bedroom. 

She ought to have known. And now the question was: knowing it, would she be willing to do it again? 

Sally looked at Jack's expectant face, then down at the mess between her legs. 

She recalled that in the pocket of her dress, folded up in the corner, was another full dose of deadly nightshade. Maybe it worked the same on skeletons.

END.